If I told you, if I mentioned that we had all been there, masked, and had cried all the same thing in borrowed outrage, it would have been enough: hungered, shell, shell; river beneath a tongue who wouldn't anymore interpolate between privacy and manner instead decaying deadwooded un-solidified: unlike water--conspiracy further downward, seabound. You meandered behind me, accidental stalker. Dancing, finding nothing to hold but each other's comely secrets we were immured. Maybe some still managed from their outrageous stalks, but you and I silently creased ourselves under and beneath: convolution from the outer skies for whom our punctured eyes had stopped searching, one by one, by one, by one.